Tea Love
by ThomE.Gemcity-06
Summary: AU. Constance accepted the fate of an arranged marriage to a man she had never met before, but she can't help but run away with her heart when she meets a young Gascon man called d'Artagnan. Will the marriage go through, or is the call of true love stronger than that of family duty?
1. Part 1

**a/n: This plot came to me while I was waiting to watch the Princess Bride for the first time, and yes, I realize that they aren't all the** **similar** **(I think).**

 **Summary:** **AU** **.** _Constance accepted the fate of an arranged marriage to a man she had never met before, but she can't help but run away with her heart when she meets a young Gascon man called d'Artagnan. Will the marriage go through, or is the call of true love stronger than that of family duty?_ _ **(a/n: for this fic, Lupiac is a short distance outside of Paris, perhaps 4-5 hours.)**_

 **Pairing: {Constagnan} = Constance/d'Artagnan!**

 **Translations (French/English):** _mon amour -_ My Love & _père_ \- Father

* * *

 **the** **M~U~S~K~E~T~E~E~R~S** \- **S~R~E~E~T~E~K~S~U~M** **eht**

 **~ "Tea" Love ~**

 **Part 1**

 **xx . tM - Mt . xx**

Constance stared out the open-shuttered window into the beautiful morning light. It was well into summer and the grounds stretched before her window vibrant and full — and familiar. She wouldn't see them much, or at all soon. She'd be gone from here...

There was a gentle knock at the door, though it startled her as much as if the person had banged on it with a fist. "Constance?" a male voice called.

She cleared her throat and straightened her shoulders, clasping her hands in front of her. "Come." She called.

Two men stepped into her apartments and closed the door behind them, bowing their heads at her respectfully. She gave a soft smile at the gesture.

The older of the two, a brown-haired, blue-eyed man with a scar at his upper lip and a usual pensive atmosphere took a step forward. "The carriage has arrived, Miss."

Constance nodded. She'd known that already, even if she hadn't been able to see it from this particular window which faced the back of the house, she could feel it twist deep in her gut. She made no move, but her hands clenched at one another.

The second man, with dark-hair that tended to curl a bit at the end when it got on the longer side, chestnut-coloured eyes, and flirtatious aura, couldn't stand to let her suffer in silence. He stepped past his companion and to Constance, taking her clenched hands in his sword-calloused palms. He ducked his head to catch her eye and gave the young woman a soft smile.

"Everything will be alright, Constance," he murmured familiarly.

"Aramis!" she gasped, her anxiety finally spilling over in the safe hold of the man she considered a trusted friend, despite the fact that his position dictated he not be. "I don't know if I can do this!"

"You can," he told her firmly. "I know you. You are a strong and brave woman."

"But I do not even know who he is! How can I..."

"Deep breath. One step at a time, let's not get ahead of ourselves." He chided her gently. "You are meeting Lord Bonacieux today, that is all. You'll be yourself, and he'll love you. He will charm you — and you will come to love him. Hm?"

Constance did as instructed and too a deep breath, Aramis' gaze held hers, an anchor in her swirling emotions. "It's just tea — for the rest of my life."

"Tea is not such a bad thing," Aramis said, "And do not forget, we will always be at your side." He glanced back at Athos.

"Yes." She knew she could always count on these two men. Aramis had been one of her protectors for the past five years, and the other man, nearly ten. They were her father's men, but they were like family to her.

Aramis was her comfort and her dreamings.

Athos was her steadfast and her reality.

"Let us hope this taste pleases, Miss." The older man murmured, not wishing to be rude, but hurry things along — it would not due to be late.

"Yes, Athos. Let us hope." Her voice was sad, but she was resolved as she lifted her chin and released Aramis' comforting hold. "Time to meet my Husband."

She led the way out of her rooms, Aramis and Athos following behind at a respectful distance, an always present shield.

"You should not encourage such notions inside of her." Athos quietly.

"Oh, Athos." Aramis sighed, "You never know, she might actually like Bonacieux."

He scoffed at the notion. "She might never had met him, but I have. What was the Captain thinking?"

"Not every marriage has to end such as yours." Aramis countered, feeling a flare of ire at his friend's unchanged feelings.

Athos' shoulders stiffened slightly at the unwelcome mention of his past. "That is neither here, nor there." He responded coldly.

Aramis sighed sadly, there was no talking to the man when he was like this.

Their conversation would have had to come to a halt anyhow as they arrived at the awaiting carriage, where Treville held his daughter into the carriage with a tight and albeit guilty expression, before climbing in after. The two Musketeers mounted their steeds. There would be time later, right now, it was Constance that was his worry.

 **xx . tM - Mt . xx**

"Hyah!" the slender, olive-skinned young man of nineteen struck at his bigger opponent, sweat tangled bangs in his eyes.

The taller, broader, dark-skinned man laughed as he easily blocked the strike of his rapier, and with a 'pat' on the shoulder, sent the Gascon sprawling in the dirt.

"Calling out your strike will always put you opponent on guard, Charles." The man told the younger, his gleaming rapier blade resting casually on his shoulder.

"I told you not to call me that, Porthos!" he protested from the ground.

"Porthos is all I have left of m' mother, there ain't nothin' wrong with Charles, lad."

"I want to be called d'Artagnan!" he leapt to his feet and gave his brother a puppy-dog pout.

"I ain't no woman you can flash those eyes an' tha' face at, and call ye whatever you want." Porthos said. "It'll take at little more than that!"

"You're not my type." d'Artagnan made a face at him. "You be called Charles for a bit, and then come talk to me."

"Your mother gave you that name, you should be proud." Alexandre walked up to the two younger men, a traveling cloak around his shoulders.

d'Artagnan sighed. "I love mother... but why did she have to pick the most boring and pretentious name in France?" Charles was proud of his family name, so why shouldn't he wear it?

"She wanted you to have a grand life, that's why." He returned in a tone that only a father could. "Now get cleaned up, the both of you, we don't want to be late for Market."

"Yes, sir!" both chimed.

Alexandre gave them a long suffering sigh. Sometimes, it felt like he still had two adolescents. The old man waited until both were from sight before he allowed the cough to wrack his body, it wouldn't do to needlessly worry his lads.

The d'Artagnans were landlord and owner of three-quarters of the farms in Lupiac that surrounded a distance outside of Paris. Though they over-saw the rest of the lands, they lived and worked on their own piece of property. After Alexandre's wife died of fever, it was just him and his three-year-old son, Charles, left to tend the farm. After a young lad of thirteen tried to pick his pocket, instead of handing the boy to the Red Guard, he showed no malice but kindness and decided to take the lad on at the farm to assist him. Porthos has been like a son to him since, and a big brother to Charles.

Not fifteen minutes later, both were cleaned up and ready for the trip into the city. There was a brief scuffle for the spot on the bench seat up front with Alexandre, but as always seemed the case, Porthos won out and d'Artagnan was left to sulk propped on the edge of the back of the wagon for the uncomfortable and bumpy five-hour ride.

 **xx . tM - Mt . xx**

Tomorrow, the announcement would be plastered in the papers — her engagement to Bonacieux. It could have gone worse, she imagined, but then again she had nothing to compare it to.

She was allowed the small mercy of being allowed to stay at her home, the only place she had ever known for her entire twenty-years, until the wedding. As soon as the I-Will's were spoken, she'd have a new home and a new life until death let them part... To a man she'd met for the first time mere hours ago.

Needing to bask in something she knew, something that was always the same but in the same moment, something new. She knew just the place. After returning from tea and lunch with Bonacieux, Constance had spoken at length with her father in respects to her husband-to-be, but now she needed the space and comfort to think and process it herself.

This was familiar ground, the Market, just what she needed to get back on her feet.

The crowded force of Paris itself.

Athos hung back a few paces behind her, but ever the mother hen, Aramis made no hesitation in walking beside her.

She looped her arm through his and took comfort in his solid and familiar presence at her side. She was glad that at least that would not be taken away, Treville had been adamant that Aramis and Athos be allowed to stay with her.

He smiled at her. "Was the tea to your liking?" he asked her gently.

She sighed. "Perhaps it is an acquired taste? — it is too soon to tell."

"Well, tell me what you thought of the man, at least." He encouraged.

She thought. "He was handsome enough, I suppose. Indignant. Very clumsy..."

"Any man would be, seeing you for the first time and all times thereafter."

She gave his arm a light smack on the arm. "Stop that!"

"If I didn't, would you run away with me?"

"You're such a flirt!" she scolded, but smiled. "What a scandal that would be! If you're not careful, sir, I might do just that to teach you a lesson."

"I would be the best of students, Madam." He gave her a little mock bow. "Attentive. Eager —"

"I truly wished you two would behave," Athos finally said from behind them, his tone was defeated though. He didn't know why he said anything anymore, it was like speaking to a pair of leaves in the wind with these two, like a pair of gossiping women!

Aramis said over his shoulder, "Spoken like a true third-wheel."

And Athos just gave him a withering look.

Aramis looked back at her in all seriousness. "Continue,"

"I know why father must do this," she said. "I know why I must do this — He is why. I know that this isn't what he wanted for me, and if I told him that I just couldn't do it, he would find a way to break the engagement. But I just can't do that to daddy."

"You are the kindest and most self-sacrificing woman I know, Constance. Bonacieux just doesn't know how lucky he is."

"Aramis, you flatter me." She shook her head.

"I want nothing in return for my words... unless it's for you to hold my favour over Athos'." Aramis mock whispered to her, giving her a wink.

"You are a ruthless one." She remarked, glancing behind her at Athos, who remained stoic in the face of Aramis' 'confession', able to suss out the Spaniard in a second.

The press of bodies was finally a noticeable thing.

"What's happening?" Constance wondered as the trio was forced to stop by a gathering clog in the street.

Athos stopped at her other side, peering through the crowd. "It appears to a stuck cart, Miss."

"Get this damn wagon out of th' way, old man!" they heard the man's shout over the murmurings of the crowd, proving the Musketeer correct.

The crowd thinned a bit, to show the cart with an old man sitting on the bench seat and two men at the front wheel and the third, the owner of the previous shout.

The youngest lad snapped at the man. ""Hey, do not speak to my father that way!"

"Easy, gentlemen —" the old man tried to placate them.

"Ignore them." Said the tall, dark-skinned man offhandedly. "'E's just some drunk tryin' to cause trouble."

"What did you — you Gacon inbreeds, lookit your skin like the scum under m' boots!"

"Uh-oh." Aramis muttered, knowing that wasn't going to go over well with said Gascons. He glanced at Athos, who shared the look, clearly coming to the same conclusion.

"Can't you do something?" Constance asked her two companions in concern, "Before a fight breaks out?"

Aramis looked over at Athos, who had a calculating look on his face, seeing whether it would be such a risk to leave Constance unattended for the moment. Finally, he gave a small nod of his head to his partner. "Stay here, Miss. We'll be back in a moment."

Constance nodded and waited by a stall stalked with all manor of trinkets, catching her interest.

"Prepare to take leave of your tongue, and then you will taste the true scum under _my_ boots!" the young man said hotly, his rapier already partially drawn as the man beside him gripped his shoulder roughly, trying to prevent him from doing something stupid.

"Hey, you lot!" A Red Guard managed to make it there before the two Musketeers. "Clear this path, you're blocking traffic!"

The old man quickly tried to appease. "Apologies! But our wheel seems to have twisted. With a little assistance, I'm sure —"

"Just get it done!"

"Maybe if you helped us!" The dark man snapped, his control fraying.

"Help you? That's not my job, gutter pig."

The young man's fire switched targets in a blink "Red Scum!"

"Why you — !"

"Everything under control here?" Athos questioned, the poster boy for calm and collected. The man who was causing the trouble in the first place, upon the appearance of the two Musketeers, in lieu of the Red Gauad, backed off and vanished pretty quick.

The Red Guard glared at him. "What business is this of yours, Musketeer?"

Aramis was glad enough to stay quiet and act as a silent back-up, observing this interesting trio.

"Not truly _my_ business, per say." Athos allowed casually. "But it wouldn't do to have a brawl in the middle of Market, would it? Would it not be wise for all parties to come to a peaceful conclusion — the other gentleman seems to have agreed," he purposefully looked around, "Apparently he had other business."

The guard looked positively irked as he just realized himself that the other man had vanished. "Everybody, back to your business! Nothing to see here!" the Red Guard scathed at the thinned crowd (most of whom had already lost interest), angry at being shown up by a Musketeer.

Aramis grinned at his friend.

"Might we be of assistance, sir?" Athos asked politely.

"Alexandre, my good man." The old man introduced, stepping down from the bench.

"Is everything sorted, then, gentlemen?" Constance enquired politely, having come over to the group at seeing the man and Red Guard go onto other business.

"Oh, Miss. You are too kind, too kind!" Alexandre claimed, bowing as much as his back would allow to her.

She smiled at him. "Your cart appears to be stuck, _Monsieur_. Perhaps with Aramis and Athos' help, everything will be sorted." She gave said pair a raised brow, not above using them for manual labour, it appeared.

"That would be very much obliged, ma'am."

With a nod to Aramis, he and Athos moved into position with d'Artagnan and Porthos around the cart, and with a count, lifted, un-sticking the wheel.

"'Preciate th' hand, fellas!" Porthos said cheerfully, clapping both men on the back.

"My sons, Porthos and — " d'Artagnan gave Alexandre a lightning fast look, but the father saw it anyways and gave an internal sigh, humouring the young man, "d'Artagnan."

Porthos rolled his eyes at that, but did say a word, but when they god back to the farm, the lad was open for teasing.

d'Artagnan gave her an almost sweeping bow, briefly taking her hand. "My Lady."

"Constance Treville," she nodded, suddenly overtaken as the young man straightened and caught her with the most beautiful brown eyes. "It was a pleasure," she said hurriedly, "And we won't keep you from you business any longer, gentlemen."

d'Artagnan was left staring after her, struck — their departure rather sudden.

"That's a proper lady there, _d'Artagnan."_ Porthos wrapped an arm around the lad's narrow shoulders. "Not for the likes of us simple folk."

Porthos expected a _speak-for-yourself_ , but d'Artagnan made no response as he extracted himself from the man's hold, walking along-side the cart as Alexandre kicked the mules into pace. He knew his brother was right, but there was still a part of him that dreamed and hoped...

"What an interesting family," Constance murmured to herself on the walk home, finding it all to easy to picture the dashing young Gascon man.

Aramis shared a look with Athos at the whispered remark. It was too early to know, but never to suspect.

 **xx . tM - Mt . xx**

"So, brother, was she to your liking?" Milday asked, coming into the study after said woman and her two handsome guards left.

Bonacieux looked rather pleased with himself. "Enchanting! Simply enchanting! I believe I'm already in love, sister."

She narrowed her eyes as she came to stand in front of him.

"She didn't seem to be." She remarked casually.

Bonacieux sat up straight. "She will be. She has to be." He looked at her. "Constance will be my wife, Treville needs for this marriage to happen or he will be in ruins. Whether he likes it or not, he needs my support if he's to keep the Musketeers. If she does not love me now, she will come to in time. Once were are married — "

She came around and wrapped her arms around him from behind, pressing against him. "She will, brother. And the Captain will not go back on his word, I promise you."

He sighed and leaned back against her. "What would I do without you, sister?"

"Hmm." She chuckled softly and kissed his temple, the gears behind her lizard eyes turning and working.

She didn't see anything happening from then to the wedding, but she would keep an eye on things. If their family where to have a firmer foothold in Paris, these nuptials were going to happen. Her mother had fought to make a name for herself in Paris, and marrying Bonacieux's father gave her that. Though Milady was not a Bonacieux by blood, she was attached by marriage and she wasn't about to give up her position without a fight.

But she'd keep an eye on things herself, just in case — she'd be ready and waiting. Being caught off guard was not to her liking at all.

[tbc]

 **the** **M~U~S~K~E~T~E~E~R~S** \- **S~R~E~E~T~E~K~S~U~M** **eht**

 **y**


	2. Part 2

**the** **M~U~S~K~E~T~E~E~R~S** \- **S~R~E~E~T~E~K~S~U~M** **eht**

 **xx . tM - Mt . xx**

 **Part 2**

 **xx . tM - Mt . xx**

Constance gave a soft sigh.

"Am I boring you?" Treville mused.

"What?" she blinked. "Oh, sorry. I guess I was just off in my own world for a minute."

He gave her a sad smile, clearly knowing what was on her mind. "Constance, I am deeply shamed that I've had to sweep my own burdens onto you. It's because of my folly those years ago that I've put you into this position — to marry a fool of a man that I loath and doesn't deserve the woman that you are."

Constance reached across the table and laid it over her father's. "I love you, _père_.And you know as well as I do that I would not do something that I didn't want to. This family is as important to me as it is you. I do not hold contempt over you. If it was not Bonacieux, I would of have to marry some other man that I did not know, but at least _this_ is worth something."

Treville gave her the most grateful and broken smile, squeezing her hand. This was one of the biggest regrets that he had in his life, forcing his daughter to marry a man for his own convenience. She was so kind-hearted and loving, just as her mother, that it broke his heart to have to put this burden onto her. And because he asked it, he knew that she wouldn't say no — and that made him all the more guilty and contemptible.

Constance wasn't even sure whether to feel guilt or shame at the fact that she _hadn't_ been thinking of her husband-to-be and her future as a Bonacieux instead of a Treville — but of a certain Gascon farmer.

She'd barely said hello to the man, but she couldn't seem to get him out of her head, his brown eyes haunting her sleep. She wondered if that was why she seemed to have gone to the Market two more times this same week, hoping to run into the young man again. It was like something about him just drew her like a bee to pollen or a fly to sweat honey.

She managed it once, and that was what had took her mind so eagerly. It had been just d'Artagnan and his brother Porthos, and they were already packing up, having sold all their wares. Though they were by far the best and freshest product, Alexandre always sold at half the price as all the other stalls, though the value of his product could have been double the price.

She didn't know how it happened, but d'Artagnan had managed to send Porthos back home ahead of him with the empty cart, and he accompanied Constance at a slow pace around the Market (with Athos and Aramis at a discreet distance of course).

She couldn't remember the last time that she had smiled so much. Without even trying, he made the pressure of her pending arranged marriage bearable and unbearable at the same time. He made her feel lighter and that was just when they talked. She wondered what it would feel like if he touched her, touched her like...

No! She mustn't think like that. She was to be married in almost two months time. She shouldn't be fooling around with another man. It was playing with fire, and when you tried to do that, you always got burned. But even though she knew she should stop, well...

Despite the danger and foolishness of it, she knew that she would continue to seek him out in the future — she wouldn't be able to help herself — regardless of how important this betrothal was.

 **xx . tM - Mt . xx**

Porthos saw the distracted and goofy grin on d'Artagnana's face as they mucked out the stable, and took the opportunity to smack his brother upside the head.

"Hey!" d'Artagnan exclaimed, glaring at him. "What was that for?"

"For being an idiot," he gave him a narrow look.

The Gascon returned the glare with an upturned chin and feigned ignorance. "I don't know what you're talking about."

Porthos made to give him another smack and d'Artagnan's arm shot up to block him as he jumped back a pace. "You're playing with fire, lad, and you don't even seem to know it — or maybe you just don't care."

"Shut up!" d'Artagnan fumed. "You don't know every single bit about me. You don't know what I'm thinking or how I feel. Social status had nothing to do with it!" all pretence dropped.

Porthos scoffed. "Just a crush on a pretty face."

"It's not like that. That's not what Constance is. When I'm not with her, my heart aches. And when I am, it's all I can do to believe it. She beautiful, funny, intelligent, loyal and she knows what she wants." He paused, breathless. Porthos was just jealous. "Stay out of this, Porthos. It doesn't concern you." d'Artagnan dropped his pitchfork and walked out. He was to meet Constance tomorrow night, he would just have to hold out until them.

Porthos looked at his brother's retreating back with a raised back. So maybe not just a crush. He sighed as he went back to mucking, he knew that this was not going to end well for the pair, whether they thought they loved each other or not. But d'Artagnan was the type that needed to learn it first-hand because he was a stubborn arse of a Gascon, like a brick wall.

 **xx . tM - Mt . xx**

Milady narrowed her lizard eyes in the shadow of her cloak's hood. The place in which she stay hidden out of sight in a darkened shop's door alcove as she watched the couple at their secret meeting.

She always made a point of joining her brother and Constance a quarter hour before their tea ended. Inserting herself, making sure she was not to be pushed aside, not during the pairs engagement, nor when they were married.

This just wasn't to do. She needed to end this lovers tryst before it could get on any further. Constance would soon belong to Bonacieux, not this commoner, charming as the boy was, and she would be devoted fully to him.

Milady soon made a point for a particular news letter to get into the hands of a handsome Gascon farmer. The young man's trust in Constance would break after finding out about the engagement. And the wool would clear from her eyes once the boy was out of the picture; Constance's loyalty to her father would overrule her ideas of 'love' that she had for the common Gascon farm boy.

A sly smile crossed Milady's painted lips as she chuckled to herself. Bonacieux was simple to manipulate and Constance and her lover were just more dolls in her chest.

She watched in amusement as the pair held each other close in tangled arms, their lips gravitated towards each other...

This first kiss of theirs, would be their last; they just didn't know it yet.

 **xx . tM - Mt . xx**

They'd kissed — for the first time — and it was magnificent!

It had been one of the several night that they planned a secret rendezvous that wasn't her walk through the Market, but one that included Constance sneaking out of the house at night and not alerting Aramis and Athos (though she wasn't completely sure she'd managed it, they already privy to her visits to d'Artagnan in the Market).

He, overtaken by sudden passion, confessed his love for her. She was so overwhelmed and overjoyed at this that she admitted her own growing feelings towards that Gascon. Despite the dark and the secrets, the lies; it was like a magnetism between them, drawing them together.

She could still feel his lips on her, his arms wrapped around her body, holding her close to his, to feel the straight and firm line of him, the shape as she was kissed with a passion, warm and sizzling, the likes of which she never thought she'd experience.

He taken her breath and her heart, she didn't think it possible in such a sort time and such infrequent meetings.

Constance tried to hide the smile as she thought of it yet again, the light in her step, but it was most difficult — she'd never been in love before. Though she knew that was what this was. She remembered when she was a little girl, watching her father and mother; the light in their eyes when they looked at each other, how they could always find each other at a crowded party, the little touches that seemed like something simple and ordinary, but were in fact a thing of beauty and cherishment. She always knew, that was what she wanted...

She let these bubbly feelings float off her when she met with her husband-to-be, and he was greatly enthused on her, though she felt even more wary around her soon to be sister-in-law. She was beautiful, dark, and mysterious and while Constance had always been as friendly and polite as she could to the woman, she always seemed to put her on an edge that she wasn't aware of. But Constance pushed the feeling aside and attributed it to nerves of the closing nuptials.

"You seem to be unnaturally happy," Aramis remarked, seeing her, "What had brought this on? It wouldn't be our handsome Gascon friend, would it?" Constance was barely able to hold back the giggle that wanted to erupt from her at just the thought of the young man; she didn't think she'd giggled since she was a little girl and her mother was still alive. But with an affinity for women, the Spaniard caught the subtle tell anyways. "Ah! A lovers rendezvous, perhaps."

She blushed and cast a furtive glance around the empty hall, before she grabbed her friend's wrist and pulled him aside into the nearest empty room. "Oh, Aramis! You mustn't say a word."

He'd only been partially joking. "Cross my heart, Miss." He swore, but internally he groaned. Was it his constant teasing and remarks that brought this about?

He knew Constance well enough that she wouldn't be taken in by a mere infatuation, she was too practical a woman for that with a head on her shoulders. So he knew that it was something serious if she'd taken it this far, but just how far was the question.

From the instances that he'd talked and been in the company of d'Artagnan (during Constance's mounting visits to his stall in the Market), he knew that the Gascon lad was ruled by his heart, not his head; he was all passion and loyalty.

He could understand how any woman (or even a man) could get caught up in a tidal wave like that. He'd gotten swept up like that on many occasion (with women that he shouldn't have), and at times, it was only Athos between him and a murder-going husband.

"We kissed," she blurted, confirming his dread.

"Constance."

But she couldn't stop now, not when she was finally about to share the real reason for her happiness with someone that she could trust to not tell a soul at her desire. "Oh. I've never felt such a thing in my life before. It set my body on fire. I couldn't think. I could hardly breath for it. The only reason I didn't collapse to the ground was because he held me in his arms!" her eyes closed and she wrapped her arms around herself, remembering, feeling it all over again.

Aramis watched her as she gave the softest, most content sigh.

"You are to marry Bonacieux," he told her softly after a moment. He hated that he had to be the devil's advocate, when he wanted nothing more than to cheer the pair on.

"I know, I know." She bemoaned. She grabbed his arms, looking up at him desperately. "What am I to do, Aramis? Please. I love this man with my entire body and soul. But I must marry Bonacieux…"

He sighed sadly, grasping her shoulders. "I wish I knew what to tell you, Constance..."

"But you must!" she begged.

"Sadly, you know what I must say."

"I have to marry Bonacieux." She whispered. "I cannot go back on my word to father, to myself."

She knew it could not, should not, last with d'Artagnan. She was engaged, and to be married by the end of the month. But she just could not bring herself to do it tell him about the engagement yet and end her fairy tail love.

 _Just give me a little while longer with him, please, I beg you, just let me have him for a little bit longer._

 **xx . tM - Mt . xx**

When next they met, d'Artagnan had the most bespoken expression on his youthful and handsome face, that had Constance instantly on her guard.

"d'Artagnan?" she murmured in worriment, reaching out and touching his arm.

He sucked in a sharp breath at her touch, and handed her a worn piece of paper.

Brows furrowed, she took it in hand and unfolded it, squinting at the type through the dim light of the lantern around the corner and the light drizzle that promised a downpour later on. She paled. It was an old newsletter with her engagement announced to Bonacieux dated a few weeks ago.

She looked up at him, her lips parting —

"You are betrothed!" he mourned.

"I do not love him, not as I love you!" she gasped truthfully, throwing away the newsletter.

He shook his head. "You secreted this away. Have stolen my heart when all this time you knew it wasn't to be!" Tears leaked freely from his eyes and it broke her heart to know that she was the cause of them.

Tears clouded her own eyes as she realized the true degree with which she had selfishly kept this secret. It wasn't just her love, it was d'Artagnan's too.

"I did not mean to. But you have my heart as well." She gazed at him pleadingly as she clutched at his cloak. "Charles..."

When she said his given name, it didn't make him feel so ridiculous. But now it just seemed spoiled — a lie. He should have listened to Porthos.

And he told her as much.

"I am to marry Bonacieux, not because I love him, but because if I do not, my father will be ruined!"

That caused him to pause. "What do you mean? Why?"

She held her breath in relief, knowing if he had stormed away, there was no way that she would have been able to catch up with him.

"Once, father used to be held in the highest regard to the King. His regiment of Musketeers the grandest and lethalest in the whole of France. Some years ago, there was an incident with Savoy, and half my father's Musketeers were slaughtered near the boarder. Only two men survived. One, deserted. The other, is Aramis, my guard and friend. It nearly caused our two countries to go to war, but the Cardinal managed to negotiate a peace. The King stripped my father of near all his respect and regard and family coin. Now, all the Treville name has is a handful of Musketeers and our home. But Bonacieux... he's held in high regards with the Cardinal and the King, and my marrying him will go a long way in restoring the respect my family name used to hold. I am doing this as much for my father as I am myself, we are nothing without each other."

When she finished, her eyes begged him to understand. And he did. He suddenly deflated, self-righteousness and anger leaving him in an instant. How could he begrudge her trying to protect her family, when he would willingly do just the same?

"I am sorry," he whispered, ashamedly. His voice was pained as he continued on words that he knew to be the truth, but burned his heart nonetheless. "Of course you must marry this Bonacieux. For the integrity of your family. He will be better to take care of you, I could not provide you with the things that he could give you with ease-"

"None of that matters!" she exclaimed to him, unable to listen any longer. "You give me the only things that I truly need, d'Artagnan. Love. Respect. Devotion.

He reached over and cupped her cheek, caressing; she leaned into the touch, her hand laying over his.

" _Mon amour,"_ his voice broke. "This will be the last we see of each other."

"d'Artagnan!" she sobbed.

Taking her face in both hands, he drew her in and kissed her. He kissed her like it was the last time, because he knew that it had to be. He kissed her with all his heart and all his desire. He kissed her like a broken man, a dying man — because that was what he was without her. He wrapped his arms around and held her close, stealing away every detail he could able the woman that he had fallen for the moment that he had met her.

The sound of her laugh. The light in her eyes. The way that she could look so cute when annoyed and blushed every time he told her how beautiful she was. All of it, every little bit, like a man dying of thirst and she was water.

Thunder clapped overhead as he pressed his forehead to hers, gazing into her shadowed eyes.

"I love you, Constance." He whispered.

"I love you," her voice broke and her last sight of his beautiful olive-toned and struck face was blurred by her tears.

He released her and disappeared down the dark street, his passage wiped away at the sudden downpour.

Constance clasped her hands over her mouth, and gave a sobbing wail into the rain as her hear broke into two completely and harshly.

 **xx . tM - Mt . xx**

Milady didn't need to be present in the shadows, a silent and malice observer to know that her plan had worked, though not quiet as she had planned. She would have thought that the Gascon would be furious and harsh, but he'd broken it off with Constance for noble reasons — the thought turned the woman's stomach. But the end result was the same so it wasn't as if she could complain about the whole thing. Bonacieux seemed oblivious to Constance's turn of emotion, though Milady had to admit that the other woman was quiet good at masking her true feelings, but could see how much consciousness it took.

In a week, the wedding would take place. Bonacieux would have his wife, and Milady would have unending access to the Treville daughter, and even more possibilities to more power.

[tbc]

 **the** **M~U~S~K~E~T~E~E~R~S** \- **S~R~E~E~T~E~K~S~U~M** **eht**

 **y**


	3. Part 3

**the** **M~U~S~K~E~T~E~E~R~S** \- **S~R~E~E~T~E~K~S~U~M** **eht**

 **xx . tM - Mt . xx**

 **Part 3**

 **xx . tM - Mt . xx**

"Athos. Aramis. My study. Now."

Aramis and Athos followed the Captain to his study, the door closed, and stood, a waiting in front of the grand oaken desk as Treville paced a moment in front of them before forcing himself to stop and turned to them.

He sighed. "Something is gravely upsetting Constance. I'm sure the two of you have noticed so. I have tried, but she will not speak to me of it. Perhaps, you know what ails her?"

Aramis and Athos shared a look that he did not miss, a single look that held a whole conversation that he was not privy to. He held back his frustration on the fact. Finally, they seemed to come to a decision as Aramis said, "Love, sir."

He was startled. "Bonacieux? Surely not!"

Previously, before this melancholy mood took hold of his daughter, she'd been walking on clouds, always smiling and he had begun to think more and more that maybe this match between her and Bonaciuex wasn't just to be a business thing. She frequently went to tea and dine with Bonaciex, but was it truly possible that his daughter had fallen for the man? (Despite knowing that it would be for the best, he couldn't stop the unsettled feeling it brought him.)

But now, as the wedding was drawing to a close, she always had a wistful look on her face. It broke his heart to look at and think that there was nothing he could do to take the look away. But he could stand it no longer, his daughter's pain was his own, he must know the cause!

He didn't miss a second look shared; on the edge of his Gascon anger, he was rather close to becoming physical if they didn't speak-up soon.

He narrowed his eyes on them. "What is it you are not saying? This is my daughter-"

"Not Bonacieux, Captain." Athos spoke, his voice low and even, taking his turn to speak. "But another."

"Another?" he was taken aback yet again. "Who is this man?"

"She would not wish you to know it, sir." Aramis said, knowing he shouldn't have said anything in the first place, but his worry for the woman's condition was getting to him.

"Perhaps it does not matter," Athos remarked, silently wondering why he was (conceivably) protecting the young man from the Market (maybe there was still a piece of recklessness deep inside of him that believed in true love), "It is a truly a broken heart that ails her now…"

"What is this man's name? I must know."

When Aramis didn't immediately say, Athos sent him a hard look. "d'Artagnan." He reluctanctly said, feeling like his betrayal of Constance's trust had no end in sight. "His name is d'Artagnan."

"d'Artagnan, you say?" Treville murmured in thought. "Not Alexandre d'Artagnan?"

Athos nodded. "His son, sir. Charles d'Artagnan."

"I've known Alexandre since I was a boy. We were on Campaign together. He's a good man." Treville shook himself out of his reverie. "It matters not. She's to be married in three days. A woman's heart gets broken endless throughout her life. It will mend, with time and distraction. She will be too busy with a new home and husband to remember a past lover — future children on her mind."

Aramis looked about to comment on that, but a subtle shake of Athos' head, had his mouth staying sealed and his eyes downcast. It was only the Spaniard who knew of how deep Constance's feelings for the Gascon flowed, how it wasn't just an affair before the wedding. It was love. He knew both these men, Treville and Athos alike had experienced it. If only they knew, if only they could see...

"You two may leave," Treville sighed heavily. "There are still many things to do before the wedding. I must think."

Both Musketeers gave grave nods and backed silently from the room.

Treville wandered over to one of the windows that lined the wall and gazed out into the front of the house unseeing. His daughter had fallen in love and he hadn't even realized. What was so wrong with him that he hadn't noticed something that seemed so obvious now? He remembered his lovely wife, how in love they had been, his one and true, and couldn't help but wonder if this was the same for Constance.

 **xx . tM - Mt . xx**

d'Artagnan hadn't been the same when he came home from that rendezvous with Constance, soaked to the bone from the downpour that evening.

It had been late and dark, and Porthos always stayed awake until he knew his brother was home safe his tryst with Constance. He'd heard the wailing howl over the thunder and hammering ran, and fearing a predator after their live-stock, threw on his cloak and weapons belt, pistol in one hand and a lantern in the other.

Outside, he started to head for the animals, but he heard another howl — and headed in a different direction, keeping his eyes peeled for any movement through the heavy sheets of rain. He stopped as he spotted a stationary shape at the mouth of the road that led to their farm and called out — it was too tall to be a canine — but he got now response. Cautiously moving forward, he came to a sudden stop a few feet in front of what turned out to be a man.

Who turned out to be d'Artagnan.

Porthos instantly put his pistol away and opened his mouth to question what the hell the lad was playing at, when he finally took in the expression on the young Gascon's face. The mere sight of the lad, like a drown rat, broke the big man's heart. Despite the ran, Porthos could tell which was the rain and which was the tears.

d'Artagnan opened his mouth, but all that came out of was broken sob that not even the thunder could drown out and Porthos' heart broke all over again. He instantly took his brother in his arms, and d'Artagnan all but collapsed against him.

Porthos all but carried the young man back to the farmhouse, banging into the kitchen. He managed to get d'Artagnan in the chair closest the low burning fire in the place. He stripped the lad of soaking cloak and doublet, the boots going as well, and dried the lad's dark locks with a towel before he grabbed a blanket from the hall and threw it around his shivering and shaking shoulders.

"What's all the commotion?" Alexandre croaked quietly as he shuffled into the kitchen on aching joints in his dressing gown. As soon as he saw his sons, he straightened and what tiredness was in his old body, vanished. He quickly went and stoked the fire, putting the kettle on. "What's happened?" he questioned Porthos.

Porthos shrugged helplessly. "Must 'ave been trouble with the lady."

"Hm," Alexandre stated noncommittally. He bent low in front of his son. "Charles?"

d'Artagnan made no verbal response, just looked at him with hopeless and broken eyes. He wanted to be angry, he wanted to lash out at something, but the ache in his chest was too much, it was a weight that held him under the sorrow of his lost love.

Alexandre sighed, he knew a broken heart when he saw one. Straightening up, he made his son a hot tea and set the cup in front of him on the table. "Drink up, it'll warm you." d'Artagnan just stared at it blankly like it was a foreign thing.

"Tha' won't do," Porthos rumbled and Alexandre watched as the match went to the cupboard and a moment later came back with an old, half-finished bottle of spirits that Alexandre had a drink from on some of his more worst days.

Alexandre was almost amused as he filled the rest of the cup with the alcohol.

Using a dirty trick (d'Artagnan might claim later in his distraught state), Porthos, with the help of Alexandre, were able to ply d'Artagnan with enough spirits (each cup containing less and less tea) that the got the sordid story from the lad in a jumble of words, half of which didn't even make sense to the pair. But they had cut the lad deeply, whatever they were.

Finally, Porthos was forced to carry the lad to bed. And let's just say the morning wasn't a pleasant one.

* * *

As the days slowly wore on, d'Artagnan's condition didn't much improve — no matter what Porthos tried to do to cheer his brother up — but the man was as stubborn as the Gascons he was raised around and wouldn't give up that easy.

d'Artagnan refused to eat, and still fought it even when Porthos resorted to verbal and then physical acts to get the young man to get something into his body that wasn't drink. The lad had never been a heavy drinker and Porthos knew that he was just looking to it to try and drown out reality.

d'Artagnan had been through depressions before in his childhood, but nothing was so extreme that a bout of sword fighting didn't get his body pumping again. Porthos should have guessed that no amount of swordplay would help someone like d'Artagnan with a broken heart, who didn't know the meaning of halfway. He was either completely in or so far out.

He had no doubt now that Constance wasn't just a passing woman.

* * *

Three days.

That was how d'Artagnan felt the passing of time now, how many days until Constance would be truly gone from his arms forever. To be embraced by another man, kissed by another man, smile at another man.

Porthos had rid the farm of all drink. No matter how much d'Artagnan suffered, his brother wouldn't let up. It was cruel, to lend him nothing to cushion the blow of his shattered heart and everything else.

"Alright, son?" Alexandre squeezed his shoulder. "We won't be more than three days."

d'Artagnan nodded numbly. Porthos and his father would be going around to the other farms to see how they were all getting on, as was per usual around this time. He knew they would rather not leave him along for such a long period of time, but even as peaceful as the roads were, there was still the danger of bandits or robbers, so it was unsafe to be alone at that far a distance — and someone had to stay and take care of the farm.

d'Artagnan was in no state of mind to be on horseback right now.

Porthos gave him a bear huge that cracked the Gascon's rib and left him breathless, but it wasn't anything more than what he was already feeling. He stood there on the path long after both men had disappeared over the hill on horseback before he forced himself to move — to do something.

He was truly alone now.

He forced himself into a mindless exhaustion doing the chores that needed to be done around the farm, until the sun set and the sky darkened to the degree that he couldn't see unless he had night vision. His stomach growled and he forced himself to eat something despite his lack of appetite. He couldn't let himself waste away like that and have Alexandre and Porthos come home to find his body. If he couldn't function for himself anymore, he needed to do it for them.

His usual Gascon pride and anger would have him bounce back from normally all else, but this was just too a shock to his body. He never been in love like that before, a true love that was bound to his soul, his heart — it had scared him and thrilled him... and then it attempted to break him. He was still sure that it had succeeded, despite Porthos and Alexandre damnest to the contrary.

He lay in bed that night, awake for a very long time, remembering every touch and every kiss, every word and every smile. He was torturing himself, but he couldn't stop. He could never forget about Constance, never stop thinking about her, wanting her. His heart cried for her.

* * *

Two Days.

Working himself to the bone didn't work like it had the night before, but he made himself anyways to try and keep himself busy. He got more things done in that single stretch then he had in a week. It didn't make him feel better in the least. They were all mindless things that didn't require his attention. He remembered her heartbroken sobs drowned out by the heavy downpour as he had to force himself to walk away from the woman that he loved. It made him want to mount up and gallop to the city, grab her up and ride away to a place where no one would find them and they could just love each other.

 _Why?_ Why couldn't they have met just a little but earlier?

* * *

Today.

Each second that went by was like a physical strike to his already wounded heart. Some hours from now, Constance would no longer be his love and his life, she'd be Bonacieux's to love and look at and laugh with — and he felt like he was dying. The thought of another man touching her, kissing her lips, brushing his knuckles down her cheek, a stray piece of curled hair tucked behind her ear.

He was already laying awake in bed when he heard the hoof beats approaching. Porthos and his father were back a little earlier than d'Artagnan had expected — but their worry for him probably spurred their pace.

He forced himself up and to the water basin, cleaning himself up a bit. It wouldn't do to look like a corpse. He hated being fussed over, he didn't have the energy.

It was as he was splashing water on his face, that the fact that there had only been one set of beats and not two dawned on him. He straightened, panic seizing him as he grabbed his rapier and ran for the door, all the reason why his brother or father would return alone running through his head. _They never would,_ he thought. Porthos would never leave father, and father would never leave Porthos — unless…

He skidded to a halt outside the door, the lone rider dismounting, as the Gascon found that he wasn't actually a lone rider. There was in fact a second rider a brief distance behind the first, and now closing in. d'Artagnan must really be losing himself if he'd missed that. He gave himself an internal slap — waking himself up, getting himself together.

Both clearly weren't Porthos and Alexandre.

He recognized the first man as he took off his hat, clad all in black leather and the pauldron strapped to his shoulder. The Musketeer Athos. He'd met the man for the first time on that day in Market when their cart had become stuck — it was the same day that he had met Constance.

A new fear tore through him as he fathomed the only reason why the older man might be here talking to him.

"Constance! Is she all right?" d'Artagnan demanded, taking a step forward.

The second man came to a halt behind them. "So this is the man." He remarked as he dismounted. Athos nodded his head imperceptibly, his face a mask as always.

d'Artagnan didn't recognize the second older man, but he seemed a bit familiar. It was hard to care when he had yet to get an answer out of the Musketeer, though. "Athos!"

"My _daughter_ ," the second man said, "Is to be as expected on the morning of her wedding."

d'Artagnan's eyes widened as he looked at who he now knew to be Constance's father. "You're Constance's father." He cleared his throat. "Captain Treville, it is an honor to meet you, sir." He wondered what he must look like as he straightened and dipped his head respectively. "Is-is there something that I might assist you with, sir? Would you like a cup of tea? Or...?" he trailed off, unsure.

Trevill wasn't sure what he expected of the man that his daughter had fallen so in love with. But whatever it was, it didn't seem to be the young man that stood on front of him, unkempt and miserable. Even though he knew the Gascon was trying to hide his feelings behind a mask of respect, the Captain could see it shinning like a torch in his brown eyes.

"Tea would be appreciated, d'Artagnan." Athos said after a imperceptible look at Treville.

d'Artagnan nodded and suddenly felt embarrassed as he directed them to the side of the house where they could tether their horses at the trough. He then led them inside and sat at the table while d'Artagnan put on the water for tea.

As the flames heated the water, and he got out the tea and cups, the silence inside the small kitchen was suffocating. d'Artagnan's heart was racing so hard in his chest, questions and confusion playing tag in his head; why was the Captain and his Musketeer here?

"So, did my daughter break it off — or did you?" Treville said suddenly, startling the young man (as clearly was his intention).

d'Artagnan nearly dropped the full tea cups that he was holding; they were one of his mother's best sets. He set them in front of his guests with a clink as his mind raced. _Don't be a coward_ , he told himself, _you are a d'Artagnan and d'Artagnans aren't cowards. Tell the truth_. It was the least the man deserved after he had been sneaking around with his engaged daughter.

Treville took a drink of tea as he waited for a response — it was always best, he found, to catch them unawares; be it conversation or combat — and found his mind flushed with childhood memories that he hadn't thought of for years. The taste of it was earthy and distinctly Gascon. Athos, on the other hand, wasn't that big of a fan. What he really wanted, was a drink. All this talk of marriage over the last couple months, of secret liaisons and broken hearts, was driving memories best forgotten to the fore of his mind.

He took a deep breath. "It was me, sir." d'Artagnan admitted.

Treville raised his brow in response.

d'Artagnan nodded, and refused to bow under the arch stare. "I discovered an old new letter that had the engagement announcement. We met a few days after. I asked her about it, upset that she hadn't told me about something as big as being engaged. How she could let me carry on loving her and her me, if it was never going to last anyways. She urged me to let her explain and I did. She confessed that she did not mean for this to get out of hand. That she loved me, and not him, but had to go through with the marriage because your name would be ruined."

Athos glanced from d'Artagnan to his Captain in thought (the small bit about the sudden appearance of the nearly two month old new letter catching his attention).

Treville felt guilt and shame consume him at this. All his doubts, about what Constance kept insisting was true about that match, came to the surface of his thoughts. He wanted them so bad to be true, that he had somehow convinced himself that her words were, not her true feelings.

"I could not blame her, or hate her," d'Artagnan confessed, oblivious to Treville's thoughts, "How could I begrudge her the need to protect her family, to fight for it? I could not ruin her like that. This man she is marrying today" — he choked a bit on the words, an insistent and painful stabbing in his chest — "I know that he is better for her. He can give her things that I cannot. That is why I broke our hearts, sir. She will come to love him, in time." Those last words hurt like a physical blow, they crushed his heart to bits. He only wanted her to love him, but how could he be so selfish? "I'm just a farmer, I'm not good enough for her."

"My family were farmers." Treville said.

d'Artagnan's eyes widened. "I did not mean-"

"I know." Treville couldn't quite hide his sad amusement at the lad's reaction, despite the slap of truth. "You're father and I fought in campaign together, did you know that?"

The Gascon was caught unawares by the sudden change in conversation and shook his head.

"I grew up on a farm not far from here, but it wasn't until the war that I got to really know your father and we became best-friends. Afterwards, of course, as sad as it is, we didn't stay in touch. Oh, but you're old man! he was one of the best swordsman that I knew." Treville paused. "Is your father around? It would be good to see him again."

"He and Porthos are away checking in on the other farms." d'Artagnan said. "They should be back by evening."

"You will tell him I said hello, won't you?"

d'Artagnan nodded, unsure how he was to respond, so he said nothing. Whatever might have happened between Treville and Alexandre when they were fellow soldiers was not his business, but he couldn't help but wonder why his father hadn't at least said something in passing after hearing Constance's last name the first time they met.

d'Artagnan stayed standing, waiting and waiting for Treville to threaten him or cuss him for soiling his daughter, but whatever the young Gascon was expecting it never seemed to come, though the older man gave him a penetrating stare the entire time (d'Artagnan refused to shift, no matter how uncomfortable it was) as he and Athos finished their tea.

d'Artagnan nearly jumped as the pair stood up, the chair legs scraping across the old wood floor. They thanked him kindly for the tea, and went outside around the side to gather their mounts, fed and watered from the trough and hay nearby

They bid farewell to d'Artagnan.

"I love your daughter, sir. She is the sun that put all other women in the dark." d'Artagnan told Treville quietly as the man settled on his steed. Treville looked at him for a long moment before he wheeled his horse around and tapped his heels, Athos following at him side.

The young Gascon's facade fell as soon as they turned onto the road at a fare-paced canter, having already been gone for far too long. He berated himself for his foolishness and self-loathing. Even if there had been a chance for whatever between him and Constance, d'Artagnan was sure it had vanished at the poor sight of him.

This visit had truly thrown him for a loop.

* * *

Finding out that Constance was in love with another man that wasn't Bonacieux, had put a weight upon Treville. At first, he'd tried to brush it aside with thoughts that beside the benefits for their family name, this marriage would provide for his daughter a comfortable way of life that she deserved. But it was hard to believe in that every time he saw her and how she would put on a face for him, but he could plainly see that she was suffering. He felt guilty that he had waited until the last minute to come here, the morning of her wedding when he should be there with her, but he had to be sure — know — that he was truly doing the right thing by her and not just the Treville name.

When he saw her this morning before he left with Athos — she looked anything but the happy bride-to-be that he knew she should be.

"Sir, what do you intend to do now?" Athos asked at the dangerous look on his Captain's face, their horses galloping down the road, making conversation nearly impossible.

"What I should have done from the beginning, Athos." He answered. "What I should have done from the beginning."

[tbc]

 **the** **M~U~S~K~E~T~E~E~R~S** \- **S~R~E~E~T~E~K~S~U~M** **eht**

y


	4. Part 4

**the** **M~U~S~K~E~T~E~E~R~S** \- **S~R~E~E~T~E~K~S~U~M** **eht**

 **xx . tM - Mt . xx**

 **Part 4**

 **xx . tM - Mt . xx**

"What's the matter, my love?"

Constance shuddered at what Bonacieux called her, at his caress of her cheek. d'Artagnan used to call her _mon amour_ , he used to touch her like that. He was the only man she wanted to speak to her like this, to touch her like this. But he never would again.

 _I will learn to love this man_ , she told herself fiercely, _for father._

But she already knew that she could never love anyone like how she'd loved d'Artagnan. It was impossible. The second she'd first looked into his beautiful and soulful brown eyes at the Market, he'd already stolen her heart, she just hadn't know it then.

But she had learned, he had shown her.

She would never have that again.

She had pleaded with Bonacieux to wait until her father arrived, but he was adamant that the ceremony go on, without delay — and that was that. Milady seemed to have no sympathy for her either. But at least she had Aramis. She'd asked after father and Athos (who disappeared at the same time), but it appeared that the Spaniard was as clueless and as worried on the matter as she was.

"... do you, _Monsieur_ Bonacieux, take Constance to..." the priest continued to speak.

"I will."

Constance glanced to the back of the church were Aramis stood aside of the closed doors, it was just the five of them (Constance, Aramis, Bonaciuex, Milady, and the Priest).

He gave her a sharp look of sympathy and she had to look away, least it cause her to burst into tears. Her gaze focus instead on Bonacieux's moustache. She could swear it was moving, twitching. She forced back the shudder as Bonacieux gripped her unwilling hands uncomfortably tight in his clammy hands. Moustaches had never disgusted her before. Her father had one, Aramis had one, Athos had one. Most men she knew had one. Alexandre and Porthos, too. But d'Artagnan didn't have one and that was all she cared about — d'Artagnan.

"... do you, Constance, take Bonacieux for your husband..."

The lump in Constance's throat was grand. She swallowed, trying to push the emotion that swamped her back. She had to say it, she was going to say it.

 _He will take better care of you._ She could hear the self-shame in d'Artagnan's voice as he admitted that to her.

God, how she wished she could go back to that night, to say all the things that she had really wanted to say, but was too overcome with shock and pain to think properly. _I don't care about money! Don't you understand? I love you. I want to be with you forever. I don't care where, as long as you're by my side, Charles. All's I want is you..._

"I—" The only man she'd ever kissed was d'Artagnan. And now she was going to have to kiss that moustache. She felt like she was going to be sick. "I-"

"STOP!"

The church doors burst open and Treville stalked in, Athos at his heels.

The breath of relief lodged in Constance's throat.

Aramis was barely able to hold back his _whoop!_ of happiness. It had been torture watching Constance silently suffer up there, alone. He stepped alongside Athos and they gave each other an assuring nod.

"Treville! What do you think you're doing?" Bonacieux demanded, his shock override by his indignity.

Treville went straight up the aisle. "The marriage is off!"

"Explain." Milady hissed.

"As I said, this marriage arrangement is cancelled. I will not have my only daughter marry a man she will never love and suffer the rest of her life as a result for a mistake that _I_ made." Treville said. "I do apologize and give you my regrets, Bonacieux."

"Regrets? Apologies?" Bonacieux sputtered.

Constance knees nearly gave way beneath her in utter relief as Treville pulled her from Bonacieux's grasp. " _Père!"_ she gasped, sagging against her father's side.

"Oh, Constance! I am so sorry I forced you into this engagement even when I knew it wasn't something you wanted. I'm ashamed to say that I ignored the doubts I was having, but when Aramis and Athos told me about you being in love with another man, I couldn't sit around and allow you to sacrifice your heart for me."

Constance looked at her father in surprise, but then she smiled. "I love you, daddy _._ I would do anything for you, and it makes me happy that you would do the same for me. Thank you."

Treville kissed her temple.

Aramis stopped Bonacieux's advance. "Sorry, _Monsieur_. But it was never going to work anyways. Better luck with the next lady, hm?" he clapped Bonacieux on the shoulder cheerfully, doffed his hat to Milady (who had eyes of acid), and followed after the others.

"You will regret this, Treville!" Bonaciuex screamed in a rage after them, spittle on his lips. "I will make you pay! You think your reputation is in the dirt now? Pah! When I'm through, the only thing you'll have to your name are those lowlife Musketeers!"

The church doors banged close with a finality that was akin to a backhanded slap and Bonacieux turned his anger one the only other person he could, the innocent priest.

Milady, on the other hand, was silently seething. She never turned the other cheek. An insult like this to Bonacieux was an insult to her. They would be the butt of every joke around the city once this got out, and within the next few hours it will have. To be spurned by a family of disrepute, would follow them for years. And all because of that Gascon child and spoiled bitch! She didn't know how or when just this moment... but oh, they would regret ever crossing the Bonacieuxs, Milady would make sure of that.

* * *

Treville mounted his horse and Athos his, and Aramis gave Constance a leg up on her father's horse before settling on his own and they made way.

 _"Père_ ," Constance questioned, seated behind her father, her wedding gown fluttering behind her, "There is something that you're not telling me."

Treville sighed. "I left this morning to see the man that you've fallen in love with — Athos took me."

"What?!" She gasped. "You didn't-"

He stopped what was a plea after the young man's health. "We had tea. We spoke. He convinced me, though I know that was not his intention." She was startled by his confession, but glad nonetheless. "He's a good lad, Constance. Honourable."

Happiness swelled inside her, the likes of which she'd only known since meeting d'Artagnan. "But what about you?" she couldn't help but wonder. "What will Bonacieux do now that we are not to be married? He was rather angry and shouted at his plans for revenge."

"To lose a catch like you, anyone would be." Aramis agreed, riding on the Trevilles' left. Constance couldn't help but give the Spaniard a fond look, while on their right, Athos sent the man a sour look, which the other Musketeer just tipped the brim of his hat at him and gave him a wide smile.

"Bonacieux is but having a tantrum." Athos answered her. "It is his step-sister, Milady, that we must be wary of."

"It is?" Constance looked aside to him.

Athos gave a short nod. "I've come across a the de Winter ladies before, they were not women to be trifled with. And now that she is a woman of station and reputation, Milady will do everything and anything, to keep it that way."

"It will take a bit to sort this mess out. Athos with stay with my while I head home," Trevillie told her, "And Aramis with accompany you."

Constance furrowed her brows at her father's meaning. "What do you mean?"

"I know you, sweetheart." He mused with love. "You will stay with me out of responsibility, but the entire time you'll be wanting to see the Gascon lad."

She blushed at being so transparent. "I... love him, _père."_ She said quietly.

"I know." He handled the reigns to the mount one handed so that he could pat, and then squeeze her hands clasped around his middle.

They rode on in silence, each thinking about what the future might hold for them and the Treville family, until the came to the edge of the road that lead outside the city and to the farmlands. Constance and Aramis parted with Treville and Athos, the lady merely transferring over to Aramis' horse.

* * *

Porthos and Alexandre had returned that afternoon, though d'Artagnan wasn't at the farm. The man had been ready to storm the lands in search of his brother, but Alexandre had dismayed him when he spotted d'Artagnan on the crest of the hill across that road where his mother's grave was.

Porthos stared after the young man for a long moment, even after Alexandre had went inside, both knowing that it would do nothing to try and talk to the lad now. So in defeat, he went inside as well.

He raised a brow at the old man as he noticed that two empty tea cups on the table. "Looks like 'e had company."

Alexander nodded. "Let's hope that it a good visit."

* * *

"You can squeeze me a little tighter, I don't mind." Aramis suggest coyly as they rode.

Constance thwacked him on the back of his head for his meaning, but he chuckled nonetheless. "I always love a little violence in a woman," he responded to her scoff, "It keeps me on my toes."

"Cut that out," she sighed, but gave him a brief squeeze from behind in a hug, resting her cheek against the back of his broad shoulder. "I was almost married to that man, Aramis. I don't know what I would have done,"

"You needn't worry about that now," Aramis told her firmly. "You're free to be with d'Artagnan now. Revel in that happiness and freedom, my dear Constance. Your love is the rarest kind, it's true hearted and without deception. You deserve this, Constance, and anyone who thinks otherwise, well, they'll have to deal with a protective Spaniard."

"I'm so happy that you are my friend, Aramis." Constance whispered. "I don't know what I would do without you."

"Your days would be boring, that's for sure." He chuckled. "Athos' personality is to dry to bear alone."

"You never give up, do you?"

"Never, Miss. Most of all where you're concerned."

She gave a small smile, allowing her eyes to slip closed. There was no more guillotine hanging over her head. Soon, she'd be with d'Artagnan.

* * *

d'Artagnan saw his father and brother's final arrive, but made no move to go back to the house and greet them and relish in their return. His mind was too occupied with the visit from Treville and Athos, and all it's possible meanings. He always came up here, at times like these. He felt closer to his mother, and though he only had vague memories of her, being as young as he was when she died, it helped him push the pain aside and think a little clearly. He was always easily frustrated as a kid (even a tolddler), and he could remember her always admonishing him for letting others get to him so easily.

He'd come up here shortly after Treville and Athos had left. He was sure that he could feel it in his bones, the moment Constance said _I will_. She was gone, lost to him forever. Whatever chance Treville's visit might have provided, had long since passed. Constance was a Bonaciuex now, lost to him forever. He may not have been sure of much since their break, but what he did know was that he could not stay here, in Lupiac or Paris. If they were to see each other again... it was too harsh a fate. He didn't want to cause her any heartache if he could help it. If he were to leave — vanish completely from her sight — then she could focus on her new life as _Madame_ Bonacieux.

Porthos and his father weren't going to take this new development well, but they'd just have to understand that he couldn't stay here any longer — it would be too mean-spirited, like a mocking-blow whenever they accidentally crossed paths. He would tell them that he had to try and make a new life for himself, though all he wanted was his old one back, to hold Constance in his arms again forever and refuse to let her go like he had.

But that wasn't likely to happen...

So twisted up with the dark and harsh dregs of reality, the young man didn't notice the horse galloping down the road towards the farm, two passengers astride; a man in the traditional blue Musketeers' cloak and a woman in a white wedding gown.

If he had, he would have seen Alexandre and Porthos come out the kitchen at the sound of hoof beats, seen Aramis dismount before helping Constance down, would have seen the foursome converse for a brief moment and Porthos pointing in his direction. And he would have seen Constance pick of her skirts in hand and run towards him.

"d'Artagnan!"

The Gascon sighed and hung his head, he could hear her voice on the wind calling his name — it sounded so real and so close that he felt his heart ache in yearning.

If he could just see her one last time before he left—

"Charles!"

He turned his head at the breathless voice and bolted to his feet as he watched Constance crest the hill in a wedding gown. He gaped at her, his arms wrapping around her as she reached and then collapsed against him, breathless.

"d'Artagnan." She looked up at him, her cheeks flushed and a happy smile on her lips as she caressed his cheek.

"Constance —" that was all he could gasp before he kissed her, everything he had in that one touch.

Finally, they parted slightly.

He pressed his forehead to her, gazing into her beautiful and sparkling eyes, one hand at the nape of her neck and the other resting in the dip at the small of her back. "Constance, what are you doing here?" he whispered in confusion.

She cupped the back of his head, her fingers pushed into his silky dark locks. "Father stopped the wedding, he called it off.

Surprise flickered in his brown gaze. "He said that he came to visit you and you humbled him."

He blushed at her words. "All I did was tell the truth, I figured it was the least he deserved."

"You were honourable, d'Artagnan," she murmured, caressing his cheek, "It's a quality he likes in his men."

He took a small step from her and took both her hands in his. "I love you, Constance. I never want to be apart from you again."

"I don't want to be apart either." She agreed.

He smiled at her in response and paused, drumming up the courage inside of him; she waited. "Constance, your are like the air I need to survive in this world. After what had happened, I can't demand of you selfish things as I'm lucky enough to be holding you in my arms now. But I love you, and I want to show you everyday for the rest of our lives just how much I do — Constance Treville, will you marry a simple Gascon farmer?"

The breath was stolen from her at his question, her heart felt ready to burst. She only wished of hearing those words from him since they confessed their love to each other the first time and had shared that kiss. "Yes!" she told him. "Yes!"

He grinned and caught her as she jumped into his arms.

"Oh, d'Artagnan!" she gasped happily as he spun her around. "I love you!"

* * *

When they finally made it down the hill and told the three men of the happy news, the response was just lovely. They all went inside and a letter was soon sent to the city to inform her father and Athos of the happy engagement and to announce the wedding would be that same day. Both Captain and Musketeer hastened to the farm.

Constance and Aramis had told the others all the had transpired with the Bonacieuxs — and d'Artagnan instantly wanted to postpone the their wedding, but Constance refused.

d'Artagnan wouldn't let it go quite that easily though. "Is she safe?" he asked Aramis, ignoring Constance's arched brow in response.

Aramis gave a small smile in reaction, but nodded seriously. "Athos knows of this woman's character, having dealt with her in the past. He's assured that she will not make her move right away in anger, but will wait and plan."

"If that was supposed to comfort me, Aramis, you did a poor job of it." The Gascon deadpanned.

The Spaniard gave a one-shouldered shrug in reply, a _what-can-you-do_ of sort. "We'll just have to prepare ourselves, but live our lives. Don't worry about it until we have to, no sense in having a dark cloud over our heads when there's nothing sinister in the air."

"You're not getting out of this proposal that easily, Mister." Constance said. She was going to marry him, no matter the consequence. "The Bonacieuxs can do nothing to us that we can't survive together — as d'Artagnans!" She told him firmly and with confidence.

d'Artagnan rather liked that last pronouncement and wasn't afraid to kiss her for all to see. "I wouldn't dream of trying, _mon amour."_

d'Artagnan was her love and her life and she wasn't going to let him go that easily. It was as Aramis said, there was no need to worry until the actual time came — if ever it did.

[tbc]

 **the** **M~U~S~K~E~T~E~E~R~S** \- **S~R~E~E~T~E~K~S~U~M** **eht**

y


	5. Part 5: Epilogue

**the** **M~U~S~K~E~T~E~E~R~S** \- **S~R~E~E~T~E~K~S~U~M** **eht**

 **xx . tM - Mt . xx**

 **Part 5** **:**  
 **~ Epilogue ~**

 **xx . tM - Mt . xx**

"Tea?"

A smile broke out across Constance's lips as she remembered her conversations with Aramis from what seemed like a lifetime ago. "Only yours."

He raised an eyebrow at her as he put the kettle over the flame. "I don't know what that means, but I'll take it for a yes."

She wrapped her arms around his neck and gazed at him. "It means I love you, you fool."

He rested his hands on her hips. "Then I'm the luckiest fool there is, to get a woman as amazing and wonderful as you to be my wife."

She laughed as he spun them around and pressed her back against the table. He dipped his head and caught her lips, ready to show her just how much and where he loved her.

[the end]

 **xx . tM - Mt . xx**

 **the** **M~U~S~K~E~T~E~E~R~S** \- **S~R~E~E~T~E~K~S~U~M** **eht**

 **Note:** So, it's finally finished. (*wipes sweat from brow*). I originally wrote this as a single piece, but decided to break it down into five parts in the end. I don't think that I've written for this many different characters before, so that was a knew and harrowing experience, hopefully it wasn't a hack show (*fingers crossed*). Though it's only taken me about 12 days to write this ( a couple hours each night), it's felt like several days longer. I had fun (most of the time) writing this fic and it's many characters and hoped you enjoyed this Musketeer AU enough to review? (*prostrated*). And I want to thank all those future reviewers (*wishful thinking*), it'll be much appreciated. (*more finger crossing*).

 **P.S:** I know you all were probably wanting to see what Milady was going to do and how they would stop it, but I thought I'd be a bit of an asshole and end it on a happy bit of cliff-hanger, eh? :)

 _..._  
 _xx ~ M - M ~ xx_

 **Relationships:**

 **#Alexandre & ****(Charles)** **d'Artagnan are father and son** **.**

 **#Alexandre** **(unofficially)** **adopted Porthos as a child** **.**

 **#d'Artagnan & Porthos are brothers and best-friends** **.**

 **#Constance & Treville are daughter and father** **.**

 **#Athos & Aramis are friends, ****blood brothers** **and Musketeers** **.**

 **#Aramis & Constance are best-friends/personal guard** **.**

 **#Athos & Constance are friends/personal guard** **.**

 **#Treville & Athos & Aramis are captain/his best Musketeers**

 **#Bonacieux & Constance are a** **n** **arranged marriage of** **convenience** **(called off** **at the last minute).**

 **#Bonacieux & Milady are step-brother/sister by marriage of Bonacieux's father and Milady's mother when they were teenagers** **.**

 **#Constance & d'Artagnan are true love(rs)/man and wife** **.**

 **#d'Artagnan & Bonacieux are rivals** **.**

 **#Milady & Athos have crossed paths (circumstance unknown)** **.**

 **#Treville & Alexandre grew up in neighbouring farms, became friends on campaign and lost ****contact** **after the war** **, are now fathers-in-law.**

 **xx . tM - Mt . xx**

y


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